Inked Up

by Terri Thayer

  April moved back to look up at the window over the garage. Trish’s desk was right up there. She caught a soft glow that might be the computer monitor, but April wanted to be sure. She pulled out her cell. Lo and behold, it had bars on it. She called Trish. She could hear the phone ringing in the house, but no one answered. She closed her phone just as Trish’s answering machine kicked in and dropped it back in her car.

  Trish was not home. April took a deep breath. This might be better. She might be able to find out what Trish knew about Xenia’s new business without having to confront Trish at all. And if she found that Trish knew that Xenia was going off on her own, April would let the police know and keep herself out of it.

  The other night Deana had given April the security code to her garage door. 8-7-4-7-4. Trish should have used something less obvious than her name if she wanted to be secure, April thought.

  April pushed the numbers on the pad. The door began to open slowly, noisily. She ducked under it as soon as it was over her head. What she saw stopped her in her tracks. Trish’s car was right in front of her.

  April considered what this meant. Trish was at home. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her knee joints loosened dangerously. She leaned against a shelving unit, trying to gain her stability. She was sure the interior door would open, a questioning Trish behind it.

  “Close the damn door,” she heard, a voice hissing next to her.

  April twisted, her answer dying in her throat. Her heart seemed to have stopped. She could see a shadow coming in the open garage door.

  “The close switch is probably by the door leading to the house.”

  April recognized the speaker. “Rocky! What are you doing here?”

  Rocky moved past her, a flashlight illuminating her path. She moved past the car to a door in the side wall and pressed a button there. The garage door started to slide down and an overhead light came on.

  Rocky was smiling. She looked happy to catch April in a compromising position. April wondered if she was going to tell Mitch. “I might ask you that. You’re the one breaking and entering. I just followed you in.”

  “I was just making sure Trish wasn’t home. Now I’m leaving.” April turned as though she was making an exit. Once she got rid of Rocky, she would be free to find the evidence that she needed.

  “Shall we?” Rocky put her hand on the doorknob. “You said yourself no one’s here. I’m going in for what I came for.”

  April stopped moving toward the now closed garage door and turned back. “Which is?”

  “Trish borrowed my favorite Louboutins,” Rocky said. “I want them back. I need to wear them tomorrow.”

  Rocky disappeared through the open door. A pair of shoes? The door closed on April, and the overhead light clicked off. She felt the empty space cling to her like a cobweb she’d walked through.

  April sought the light like a moth, finding herself in the kitchen. Rocky was walking away from her, down the hall, flipping on lights as she went.

  April calmed herself and remembered her mission. Clive had pushed himself, going on TV, ignoring his need for privacy. She could put herself on the line, too.

  She called to Rocky, “I’m just going into her office. Five minutes and I’m out of here.”

  April bounded up the stairs to the office. The quicker she found what she was looking for, the quicker they’d get out.

  Trish’s computer was on. The background was a picture of Trish receiving an award, her hand outstretched for the glass triangle, her smile wide. April’s hand brushed against the mouse. A document came up and obscured the photo.

  Hold on. She knew someone in that picture.

  She minimized the document, revealing the picture again. The man beaming up at Trish was Traczewski, the head of the Lynwood Border Patrol, the anti-immigration group. April tilted her head so she could read the writing inscribed on the award. “Preserver of the Year.” He looked so proud.

  April felt sick to her stomach. Trish was one of them. She was perfectly willing to let Xenia Villareal work for her and collect the profits she made, but she was more than happy to try to run anyone with a Mexican-sounding surname out of town. What a sham.

  The anti-immigration group’s main strategy was to reduce the recent immigrants to something subhuman. They degraded people. Wouldn’t it be easier to kill someone you didn’t consider a human being?

  April felt her nausea turn to fury and determination to find out what Trish knew of Xenia’s business plans. She opened Trish’s financial programs. The woman kept meticulous records. April could easily follow the flow of money into Trish’s coffers, checks from Deana and others for inventory received.

  April clicked on a file with Xenia’s name. She had thirteen women working under her. All of them were selling Trish’s Bella cosmetics line, no Stamping Sisters supplies. Just as Xenia had told her. Many had Latino-sounding names. The addresses were scattered over the surrounding two counties. April recognized some of the street names. She’d been there with Vanesa.

  April found a chart Trish had created showing Xenia’s sales over the last fiscal year that had ended in September. Xenia’s income had been building, doing better each month. Until June. Sales fell off precipitously. July was even worse. Last month, her total sales had been a mere five hundred dollars, down from a high of six thousand dollars.

  It must have been obvious to Trish that Xenia was up to something. An economic downturn, the summer months, none of it explained such a large drop-off. Trish would have been furious. Had she called Xenia to the maze to confront her?

  If Xenia had convinced her customers—and the salespeople under her—to abandon Trish’s Bella cosmetics in favor of her own Bonita products, she would have made a fortune. And Trish would have lost one.

  April’s stomach churned. She felt like she was in a house of pure evil. She needed to get out. She’d stop at the barracks and tell the state police what she knew.

  A bang from another room startled April. Rocky. She’d forgotten about her.

  She closed the program and found herself staring at the document she’d seen earlier, when she’d first touched the mouse. A familiar name caught her eye.

  April glanced behind her. She could hear Rocky moving about in the other end of the house. She let her eyes travel over the contents.

  It was a lot of legalese, double-talk, but April soon got the gist. On the screen was a contract between Rocky and Trish, selling Rocky the Stamping Sisters business.

  Really? Rocky was going to become the new Trish? Was that why she was here? Why hadn’t she said anything?

  April made her way out of the office. “Rocky,” she whispered loudly. No answer. She called louder, walking through the kitchen.

  Rocky appeared in the hall on the opposite side of the room. “You’ve got to see this,” Rocky said. “You need to see the size of this walk-in.” She beckoned to April to follow her and was gone again. April went through the open double doors at the end of the hall. They were dark wood carved and arched to look like those of a Spanish church.

  The walk-in closet was straight ahead. Several overhead can lights made the space as bright as day. The floor was a mess. Rocky was bent over a vanity counter installed in the middle of the closet.

  “Rocky, did you do this?” April stepped around a pile of dirty clothes.

  Rocky looked up from the drawer she had opened. Earrings glittered from the velvet lining. “Of course not. I found my shoes in that pile, though. I’m never lending her anything again. She obviously doesn’t take care of anything.”

  “Let’s go,” April said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Look at this,” Rocky said. She held up a leather bag. It was about the size of a fanny pack.

  “I’m not into handbags,” April said.

  “It’s not a purse. It’s a sporran. Her husband must be into the unbifurcated lifestyle, too.”

  April took a step back. “Eww. I don’t want to know about their sex life,” she whispered.
>
  Rocky laughed. “Pants are bifurcated, split in two. Skirts and kilts aren’t. This is to be worn over a kilt.”

  April had had enough of Rocky’s sense of humor. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Hold on. I’m looking for a pair of diamond studs that she took off me in the club locker room. Go check out the room décor. It’s very girly. I think they must sleep in separate bedrooms.”

  “I don’t care what Trish does with her husband. We have something to discuss,” April said. What would it mean to her stamping line if Rocky owned the company?

  Rocky was studying a necklace, trying it on in the mirror built into the jewelry hutch.

  She was still talking about Trish and her husband. “They’re always so lovey-dovey in public. He’s the big cheese, and she’s his hot corporate high-powered wife. The couple that has it all. She pretends they have all this great sex. She’s always bragging about his schlong . . .”

  Enough. “Rocky, shut up.”

  “Well, she is. You’d be surprised what you overhear in the bathroom of the club.”

  April glanced out into the bedroom. From here, she could see only the end of the bed and the settee beyond. The room looked like the closet. Messy. The bed was unmade, some of the covers puddling over the footboard and onto the floor. April saw a picture frame lying on its side near the entrance to the closet.

  She picked it up. The picture was in a heart-shaped mat. “Trish and Ted forever,” it read. The glass was cracked.

  “Rocky, Trish is married to Traczewski?”

  Rocky poked her head out. “Didn’t you know that?”

  April noticed another picture on the bedside table. She could see a white dress and veil from here. She couldn’t believe that Trish was married to this guy.

  “But she goes by Taylor.”

  “So did he. I think his parents shortened it years ago. Until he formed the Border Patrol. All of a sudden it was cool to be ethnic. As long as it was the right kind of ethnic.”

  Rocky was combing her fingers through the back of her long hair and arranging her side-parted bangs so the hairs covered her scar. She’d never explained the origin of the scar on her face, and April hadn’t yet worked up enough nerve to ask Mitch about it.

  Was it a childhood accident? Something more recent? An abusive boyfriend? That would explain her clinging to Mitch. And her reluctance to let Mitch enter into a relationship.

  Was anyone in this town what they said they were?

  April turned and walked out of the closet. As she passed the big bed in the main part of the bedroom, something caught her eye. Hair. There was hair spread out on the pillow. She let her gaze trace the position of the bedding and realized she was looking at a human shape. Trish was here, taking a nap.

  An involuntary yip flew out of April’s mouth, loud in the empty space. She clamped a hand over her mouth and waited for Trish’s reaction.

  April swallowed hard. Her feet felt rooted to the spot. As though the pink carpet was actually made of bubble gum and was holding her down.

  Trish wasn’t moving. April stared. She couldn’t see the rise and fall of the blankets.

  She considered the bed again. It didn’t look so much unmade as it did thrashed about in. A very energetic sex partner could make the covers come out of the end of the bed. Someone could have gotten tangled in the sheets. April had the sense that someone else had left the room not long before she and Rocky showed up.

  But why wasn’t Trish waking up?

  She called Trish’s name as a clamminess started in her belly and crawled up her throat. Her spine tingled as though someone stood behind her.

  CHAPTER 21

  April whirled. Rocky was standing there, in her stocking feet. She was carrying her shoes.

  She stage-whispered, “Ready to go?”

  She couldn’t stand the idea of telling Rocky what she thought was going on. She couldn’t form the words. Trish was not napping. Not going to wake up.

  She had to be sure. Before she could think any further, she strode to the bedside.

  Trish was lying face up, her eyes wide open and bulging. Her fingers had frozen, clawing at the tie cinched tightly around her neck. She was naked, her body twisted in the pale pink sheets. The bottom of her feet were white.

  April’s hand flew to her mouth, and she turned back to Rocky.

  “She’s dead. Call the police.”

  “Shit!” Rocky said. “You didn’t have to kill her. She would have been mad that we were in here without her permission, but she’d have gotten over it.”

  “Are you crazy? Me kill her? We’ve been together the whole time we were in the house.”

  “No, we kinda were not. Like right now. You were alone in here,” Rocky said. “You were pretty shocked when I came up behind you.”

  “Of course I was shocked. I just found a dead body,” April shouted. She glanced over at Trish’s still body and lowered her voice. “You scared me to death.”

  “You knew I was in the closet, for crying out loud.”

  April had heard enough. “I didn’t kill her. You didn’t kill her. We don’t know who killed her. Just call the flipping police and let them sort it out.”

  Rocky said, “I think maybe we should get out of here and then call. You know, anonymously. I guess we’d have to use a pay phone. Does the IGA still have a pay phone?”

  Rocky continued talking, but April tuned her out while she thought about that scenario. She wouldn’t have to be questioned by the police for hours and hours. Yost would never have to know she’d been here. That part would be good.

  “Are you sure she’s dead?” Rocky said. She’d moved closer to the bed and was craning her neck to get a better view. Her hair swung forward, covering her face completely and blocking April’s view of Trish’s face.

  “Her lips are blue,” April said. “Her chest isn’t moving.”

  “Maybe you should try CPR,” Rocky said.

  “Do you know CPR? I don’t,” April said.

  April had to stay. She’d left a crime scene earlier this week and the state police investigators had not been happy with her. She wasn’t going to go through that again.

  “Leave her be,” April said. “Let’s get out of here. My cell is in the car. I’m going to call this in.” If the cellular reception gods smiled on her.

  “Suit yourself,” Rocky said.

  April ran through the house, with Rocky following. The door from the kitchen into the garage slammed against the drywall as April pushed through. She didn’t stop to see if she’d left a hole.

  She opened her car door and got out her phone. Rocky headed for her own car, a small red Mercedes coupe.

  “I’ll call it in,” April said, opening her phone.

  “You bet you will,” Rocky said. “You found her.”

  April lowered her phone. “Why didn’t you see her?”

  Rocky stood, balancing on one foot, the other snaking inside her car. “I just stayed in the closet. I didn’t even go into her room.”

  April stopped dialing. Rocky was behind the wheel of her car. In the split second it took to start the engine, April knew Rocky was going to abandon her. She was already halfway into her driver’s seat when Rocky pulled away from the curb, leaving April alone to handle the murder scene.

  April jumped out of her car, as if she were going to chase Rocky on foot. She stood in the middle of the street, her mouth open, watching as Rocky drove off. Her fingers were on her phone. They had already pushed 9-1-1. She hit the speaker function and jumped into her own car. She rolled down the window and laid the phone on the console. She started her car, pulled out of the driveway and followed Rocky’s taillights. There was no way she was doing this alone.

  The 9-1-1 operator asked for her emergency. April reached over and pressed the end-call button.

  She followed Rocky past the empty guardhouse.

  April heard Rocky grind her gears as she turned out of the development and down the hill toward town. April punched he
r accelerator, but her old Subaru was no match for Rocky’s five-speed coupe.

  The road forked. April had to slow. She strained but couldn’t see Rocky’s taillights up ahead on either road. One led to town, the other deeper into the valley.

  April read the street sign. Mountain Road. Mitch’s home was five miles up the road to the right. Her heart lifted as she turned right and sped down the wet road. She was confident Rocky had headed to Mitch’s. If Mitch were her brother, that’s what she’d do. In fact, she’d like to do that anyway.

  Rocky must have really put the pedal to the metal. She was nowhere in sight, nor were there any other cars on the road. April strained to see through the dark. Streetlights weren’t common out here. She passed weird looking shapes that turned out to be old silos and barns in near disrepair.

  The darkness was so complete. She hadn’t experienced this kind of night in a long time. In San Francisco, the city lights never went out. Here, the summer nights had been filled with fireflies and patio lights, but now it was nearing the onset of winter, and people were huddled inside. Daylight was short and night came early. She blinked, trying to open her eyes wider. Nothing helped.

  She had to brake hard when the road took a ninety-degree turn. Her car shuddered with the effort of holding the pavement. She felt herself expel a breath. She didn’t need a repeat of her earlier accident. She took her foot off the gas and let the car slow. The last two miles to Mitch’s house took forever.

  But it didn’t matter. Rocky was not at Mitch’s. The A-frame was locked up tight. The front porch light was on, but nothing else.

  April felt panic rise in her. She’d walked away from Trish because of Rocky, and now she couldn’t find her. The cops would not be happy with her.

  Where else would Rocky be? Her other main haunt was the country club. April drove back into town and out to the country club. She trolled the parking lot but didn’t see Rocky’s car there, either.